


Digital Playlists of Superheroes

by coveryourheads (rsk110)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Roadtrip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 08:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11158467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsk110/pseuds/coveryourheads
Summary: "Steve Rogers disappears.It’s Sam who knocks on his door in the morning, waiting for Steve’s customary grunt of permission to barge in on him.  It’s silent when Sam pushes the door open.  The grey Wakandan morning filters in through the large windows of Steve’s room.  The bed is made perfectly, in the way Steve usually doesn’t (as far as Sam has witnessed)...It’s just that Steve Rogers has disappeared."-and- Falcon and Winter Soldier (and Scarlet Witch) roadtrip fic.





	Digital Playlists of Superheroes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Italian Villa](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087415) by [mific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific). 
  * Inspired by [In T'Challa's Library](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087535) by [mific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific). 



Digital Playlists of Superheroes

 

Steve Rogers disappears.

It’s Sam who knocks on his door in the morning, waiting for Steve’s customary grunt of permission to barge in on him.  It’s silent when Sam pushes the door open.  The grey Wakandan morning filters in through the large windows of Steve’s room.  The bed is made perfectly, in the way Steve usually doesn’t (as far as Sam has witnessed).  Barnes does; makes his bed neat and tight with military corners and folds his clothes into perfect ten by ten pieces of squares.  Even with one arm.  Or…  Barnes _did_.  Steve doesn’t.  He’ll kick his boots off and socks would be everywhere, shirts thrown into corners, and smudges on his clothing.  On all of them.  Because Steve is always too impatient to find a napkin.  Because Barnes always has a handkerchief.  _Had_.

Sam sighs.  He doesn’t know.

It’s just that Steve Rogers has disappeared.

All those shirts would have been balled up and tossed into his duffel.  Mismatching socks rolled together.  Steve wears a leather jacket so there wouldn’t be a visible crease from it being hidden under the bed (even though he shrugged when Sam called it).  Barnes with his smirk as he digs through the piles to find exactly what Steve’s looking for.  Barnes pulling out his clean, pressed(!!) handkerchief from his pocket before Steve wipes his mustard covered fingers over his pec.  Sam loves Steve like a brother.  He wouldn’t be able to do that for the man though, picking up after him, knowing what he needs before he does.  Natasha had more than once joked about picking up after Steve, dropping his Shield or gun or anything during a fight.  Sam feels Nat, but on a domestic level, it weirds him out.

Wanda takes the news with ease and it freaks Sam out.

Clint sighs and shakes his head and goes off to find coffee.

Scott asks him what it means for them.

Sam shakes his head as he hears glass breaking and Clint’s voice from the kitchen, “Awww, coffee, no…”

Sam goes to frozen-Barnes to tell him the news, knowing full well that he can’t hear him but Sam would rather Barnes have it from him than anyone else.  The bastard will probably hack through security files when he wakes up to see if anyone did anything to his cryo-chamber while he’d been under.  Clint will point fingers at everyone else and Barnes will see that it’d all been Clint.  Some Scott.  And Steve’s pathetic sad face and leaving his cups on the floor all the time for someone (Sam!) to pick them up.  And this moment of Sam telling Barnes that Steve’s gone.  Sam hates that he knows the two Super Soldiers too well.

“So, Steve’s gone.  Not on a mission or anything.  Just…  Up and left.  Made his bed.  Cleaned up the room.  Didn’t leave us… you… a letter or a note.  Just left.”

Frozen-Barnes is pale under the sheen of ice, beyond the slightly colored glass.

“Yeah.  I know.  I thought we were friends too.  But… You know, if anyone understands why he’s gone, it should be…  You and me.”

The tempo of Barnes’ vitals beep steadily on in the distant background.

“Me neither, man.  Me neither.”

   

   

A month passes since Steve-silence and Sam can feel the restlessness from the others.  Sam is fine, by the way.  He likes the technical jungle that is Wakanda.  Shopping is always a joy.  He enjoys the conversations with strangers, rummaging through different vendors on open market days.  He and Wanda now have a few favorite vendors that sell used books, music or strange looking vintage objects Sam doesn’t know the actual functions for.  There isn’t a lot of interaction with T’Challa, because he’s a king and busy, but that only means it’s good when they get to have dinner or run into each other in the vast library or anywhere else in the big mansion.  (Not a castle, T’Challa says rather sheepishly, though it’s bigger than the White House, Sam is sure.)

T’Challa’s smile when Sam had told him about Steve unnerved him and at the same time was the moment when Sam accepted that Steve left without a trace.  T’Challa had mildly told him that Steve probably had a lot on his mind.  Sam stops feeling like he’s been left behind after this chat with T’Challa.  Sam doesn’t stop the cat gifs and memes he texts to T’Challa (who also won’t quit with the bird ones).

There’s always things to do in the mansion.  Sam plays big brother and keeps up with what everyone’s up to, every day.  The library is where he finds Wanda most often.  She reads up on a bunch of subject matters like politics and histories of the world.  She befriends a few of T’Challa’s advisors who are only too happy to help educate her, suggesting books and movies.  Sam is banished from the sessions when he yawns loudly during a (boring) documentary about the forming of the United Nations.  He begs her to let him stay when they’ve ventured into discussing about the mutant rights movements.  It doesn’t work; not until he promises to do her chores for the next month.

Clint and Scott likes the gym areas where they can keep up with their workout routines.  Clint’s proclivities with breaking stuff have the mansion staff on high alert, except in the gym.  Scott has ADHD, Sam swears, because the dude can’t stay still or focused for long.  It’s best to let them pal around, because they keep each other occupied.  They actually stay focused in the gym areas, because they can actually get hurt, unlike a few crazy Super Soldiers that Sam knows of, and those two, do not like getting hurt.  One papercut and another bumped toe had led to whining and crying for longer than Sam can tolerate.

Overall, Sam has a good time in Wakanda, with or without his best friend and his best friend’s scary sarcastic best friend.

 

 

It is another month and a few days when they receive a cryptic letter addressed to Sam.  Clint is excited and swears it is from Natasha.  Sam has never seen her handwriting.  It looks like gibberish with sentences that do not make any sense.  If it is encrypted he doesn’t know the cypher.  Scott is just as clueless as Sam.  Wanda is the one who deciphers the letter.

“It says, ‘Hello, hope you are well.  Fossil is not answering his burner.  Call me at mine’.”

So, Sam dials the strange number that isn’t American.  Nat answers after three rings.  Her voice is rough and there is foreign language in the background noise.

“Hello.”  She says.

“Hey Nat!”  Clint screams into the phone before Sam can set it down and pressing the speaker button.

They all greet each other.  Nat breaks the jovial ‘reunion’ with a simple, “Where’s Steve?”

There’s a noise of hesitation from the four of them.  “Uh…”

“Sam?”

“Steve left.  He’s…  He just took off.  It’s been about two months.”

There’s a hum of contemplation, some noise of cars honking and loud noise.

“Where are you Nat?”  Clint is literally bouncing in his seat.

“Any progress with Barnes?”

“No.  He’s still under.”

“If you get in touch with Steve, let him know I need to speak to him.”

“Sure.”

“And you might want to pack your bags.  You’re all being exonerated.”

Five seconds of silence and they are all cheering and whooping.  They get to go home.

“All being the operative word.  Just you four.  Steve and Barnes are still…  In a difficult situation.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t exist.”

“Natasha…”

“Clint and Scott have family.  They should go home.”  Wanda pierces the excited conversation with her calm words.  “My family is right here.  Wherever Steve may be.”

“They miss you.  Tony and Rhodey… Vision…  Aren’t they your family, too?”

“What’s going on, exactly?”

“Get on that plane.  Go home.  I’ll see you when I see you.  Widow out.”

Later, Sam tries Nat’s burner but it’s been disconnected.

  

   

Sam realizes as he’s throwing things into his duffel that his old iPod is missing.  It’s the small one that can clip to his sleeve when he’s working out.  They don’t make those anymore.  Damn that Steve Rogers, Sam curses.  He should never have let him borrow it that one time.  Steve had enjoyed his workout mix a little bit too much.  Steve Rogers is a thief.  Sam is a little pissed off and a little flattered.  Sam finishes packing with half a smile.

   

  

Sam hugs Wanda on the tarmac before boarding the small Stark jet because she has adamantly decided to stay in Wakanda.  She hasn’t given more reason than that she will feel more comfortable here.  Sam looks her in the eyes and tells her to take care of herself.  She is welcome to come back any time.  Clint and Scott are strapped in their seats when Sam steps aboard.  There is one flight attendant who makes sure they all have their seatbelts on before take-off.  They may be on a Stark jet but they are treated like criminals and Sam is unsettled by everything even after they cross the ocean and land.

America soil feels the same as anywhere else except Sam can say that the air feels nostalgic.  Not as clean and crisp as Wakanda, but less damp, and smells like someone’s cooking meat on a grill somewhere.  Maybe it just feels like it.  There is a town car for them which takes them directly to the Avengers Compound.  The ride is long and quiet with Clint’s thrum of excitement next to Sam.

The Compound looks the same, well taken care of.  At the entrance, Vision walks out to greet them.  Walks.  No floating.  He is wearing a sweater vest over long sleeve oxford.  He’s still very much… Vision.

“Clint.  Sam.  Mr. Lang.”

“Scott, please.”

Vision nods.  “Mr. Stark has been waiting for you.”

Vision eyes over the group.  He asks, “Wanda has decided to remain in Wakanda, I take?”

It’s not a question.  It’s a statement lacking surprise and expressing disappointment, like a mature child unsurprised that his estranged parent has failed to come visit, again. 

“Can’t you talk to her with your mind or like… teleport over to see her?”  Scott asks, genuinely curious.

“I have promised her that I would not do things that ‘invades privacy’.”

“Oh.  But you can, right?”

“I suppose so.  I have not tried.  I respect her wishes.”

Meeting Stark is uneventful after that, sitting around the kitchen table with hot tea and cookies, until Stark comes in with files for them to look over and sign.  Sam scans the tiny words carefully, remembering the last time someone suggested signing something with little words like these.

“These say that we acknowledge that we were manipulated by Steve and Barnes.”

“Yes, Sam.  But it means you get to come home.  Clint and Scott and…  Wanda.  And we can go back to…  Being _us_.  Remember that?”

Sam sighs, burying his face in his hands.

“Tony.  The Accords…  They were…  Not the right path.  It divided us.  We were supposed to be the good guys.  Why are you letting this divide us?”

“Did Captain America tell you Barnes was the one who killed my parents?”

“Yes.”

“Barnes is dangerous.  He’s capable of…  He’s like a tumor to Steve and he needs to be removed.  Permanently.”

“You disagreed on the Accords before we found Barnes.”

“Sign these.  Go home.  You’re not superheroes.  _We_ are what’s wrong with this world and we need to…  stop.”

“Tony, are you serious?”

“I am hanging up all my Iron Man suits.  These compounds will close.  There will be no more Avengers.”

“Tony!”

“We can’t make the moral decisions for the world and we have to stop.  Vision was right.  They were right.  Because of our presence, we’re putting the world in more danger.  We need to stop.”

“Steve would say that the cog’s already been turned and we can’t just stop it.  We need to be what we were meant to be.”

“But Steve’s not here, is he?”  Tony has never sounded so melancholy.  Tony’s distant silence is disconcerting.  He isn’t even drinking.  Then Sam sees what Tony is looking at.  It’s Steve’s Shield, leaning against the wall in the corner.  Like Steve just left it there before going down to the gym or something, then he’ll come back and pester everyone about where he’s left his stupid giant heavy Shield and Tony will point to it and Steve will laugh his goofy laugh, like duh-doy, he’s just Steve’d again.  But Steve’s left.  Steve has left Tony, too.

“If I sign this, and if there’s some…  alien or evil robots invade again and…  we are needed?”

“Then you sit at home and watch CNN with the rest of us.  Bite your nails with the rest of us as the military or whomever _they_ approved to fight do their thing.  And pray that H. G. Wells had it all figured out.”

“What’s happened to you, Tony?”

“We’re just mortal beings.  Boys.  We need to grow up.  Sign it.  End of discussion.”

The discussion ends.  Tony walks away and disappears down the hallway.  Scott looks at Clint then Sam, confusion swimming in his eyes.  He signs and initials the papers.  He winks mischievously and says, “You know where to find me.  Sayonara.”  He takes off.

Clint chews the end of his pen.  The folder is opened to the page he needs to sign.

“It can’t be that bad.  I mean…  Retirement wasn’t that… bad.  And if they need us…  And they will…  We are still Avengers.  A couple of signatures on some paper can’t change that.”

Sam doesn’t sign.  He leaves it open to the page that declares the Avengers disbanded, like they were nothing but a nineties boyband with maybe two hit songs and no future careers and a definite expiration date.  Clint signs haphazardly, because he has the world’s worst handwriting, with a circular hawk doodle.  Sam learns that Clint’s middle name starts with F.  He doesn’t ask what.

Sam takes a moment to look around the empty compounds.  He can’t find Tony or Vision.  He goes into the room that used to be his.  If they’re closing the compounds, disbanding the Avengers, he might as well pack.  Not that he had much here.  A few books, his old laptop and some workout clothes.  His car keys are still on the nightstand so he grabs it.  His car is still in the garage.  A Ford sedan in navy blue.  Covered in a thin layer of dust.  It gives a loud kick but starts up just fine.  The drive home to his Mama’s in DC will be long but Sam relaxes and turns on the radio for the, stopping once on the freeway to refill the tank and grab a can of Redbull and some beef jerky.

 

 

The Falcon Workout Mix – Track 029  
‘Hate Me Now’ – Nas  
“It’s a thin line between paper and hate, friends and snakes, nine millies and thirty-eights, hell or the pearly gates…”

  

Bucky leaning back into the grass, stretching like a cat under warm sunrays, Steve draws that.

He rips it out and crumples it.

Bucky holding an umbrella under the rain, staring up into the gray sky, Steve draws that.

He tears it down the middle.

Steve can’t get Bucky out of his mind so he thinks drawing the moments that drive him mad will help.

They don’t and trash keeps piling up.

Steve always means to pick up his laundry and clean up but he’s just got a lot on his mind.

Bucky pulling out his clean handkerchief out of his pocket.

Steve throws the sketchbook and creates a dent in the wall.

‘I know you don’t like it, but it’s something I gotta do.  And, if anything happens, if I can’t remember…  Remind me…’

Steve gets up off the floor to pick up the sketchbook.

‘Go and see the world.  The real world, not battles.  Go draw them and show me.  Like how we were going to do…’

Steve grabs his duffel bag and begins to throw things in there.  On a second thought, he separates clean and dirty clothes.  He can’t distinguish so he takes everything to the laundry room.  He washes everything together in cold water, hoping that his whites will survive.  If not, he’ll just wear blue things.  Steve shrugs.  He grabs some cleaning supplies and the vacuum cleaner.  The room isn’t that dirty but when Steve Rogers starts something, he’ll do the best job he can.  The room is well dusted and vacuumed when he goes to load up the dryer.  He makes the bed but the corners frustrate him so he does half military fold and half shoving the inches of sheets under comforter under the mattress method.  Bucky does them perfect and Steve’s never learned how.  It looks okay.  The windows and furniture surfaces are sparkly clean when Steve goes to get his now clean, slightly bluer clothes out of the dryer and return the cleaning supplies.  He folds his shirts and jeans neatly and stack them into his bag.  Other stuff goes into the bag neatly.  If Steve doesn’t hesitate shoving Sam’s iPod into the side pocket, is because he has every intention of returning it, when he gets back.  He doesn’t know where he’ll go, but he’ll come back.  So, it’s not theft.

It’s extended borrowing.  (Besides, Sam’s got music on his phone.  Steve has yet to figure out how.)

‘Be happy, Steve.  Keep doing what makes you happy.  If you’re not here when I wake up, I swear, I’ll find you.’

The room is spotless.  The last thing Steve needs to do is…  He rips out a blank page of his sketchbook.  He chews the end of his pen for a minute on how to express himself.

‘I’ll know.  I’ll…  I’ll just know.’

He tapes the paper over the dent he’s made.

‘Yeah.  Me, too.  Always.  It’ll never change.’

Steve sneaks out, accesses the garage and pushes a motorcycle out about a mile before saddling on, starting the engine.  Bag strapped over his chest, a helmet over his head, Steve smiles as the breeze cools down his skin.  It’s been months since he’s smiled.

‘If it makes you smile, then it’s something you should do.  Even if you’re alone…  You won’t be.’

It’s been months since Bucky has gone under again.  Steve can’t follow him there.

Steve touches his face.  His beard’s grown, full and fluffy.  Steve shrugs.  He’ll be less likely to get recognized.  It thrills him.  Steve kicks off, down the road.  Because he’s got a mission: Go, See, Draw, Happy and Wait for Bucky.  He can do that.  He pauses at a light to pull out the iPod.  Plugs the earbuds in under the helmet.  Sam’s slow and he might just be a bird, but he’s got some kickass mixes.  The light changes and Steve drives on.

‘We’ve got time.’

“Yeah, Buck.  We’ve got time enough.”

[Sam misses the paper on the wall out of panic.  T’Challa is the one who finds it later on.  It’s a line-drawing of a cat, with large triangles for ears, sharp vibranium claws and curling tail.  There’s a happy round sun in the sky and fluffy clouds and triangle mountains in the background.  The cat is on pokey grass with a five-petal flower with flames(?).  There is a bird with sunglasses, a bird with a bow and arrow, and a large ant surrounding the flower.  At the bottom, it says in neat block letters, ‘Sorry about the dent.  I’m borrowing a motorcycle.  Don’t hate the player.  S.G.R.’  T’Challa leaves the dent in the wall because it’s funny.  And the drawing.]

  

  

Wanda’s Mix 2 – Track 059  
‘#1 Crush’ – Garbage  
“I would die for you… I will burn for you… I would die for you… I would wait for you… I believe in you…”

  

  

The man in a crisp white shirt, pants and comfortable looking flat sneakers asks him, “Do you know your name?”

The room is wide and open, with clear large windows that faces a thick forest.  There’s a low hum of electricity.

“My name is…”

He looks down at his hands.  Hand.  It trembles at this new knowledge.  And his upper body twists and shoots forward to throw up except that it’s all empty.  The man helps him with warm gentle hands to settle back down against the bed.

“Barnes.  James Buchanan…  Barnes.”

The man smiles at him.

“My name is James.  Bucky.  Bucky…”

It is familiar now.  Bucky.  Someone had called him this name.  Can’t remember who.

But there is one voice in his head, as he shifts to find comfort, calling his name gently, in anger, in fright, and echoes.

  

There a woman with flowing auburn hair.  Her red dress shifts and flows behind her in billowing waves as she walks next to Bucky’s wheelchair.  He insists she can walk but she tells him she won’t have any of that.  She talks to him about things.  About how they met.  These things come back to him in small moments and then Bucky crashes into deep sleep.  He pieces together the memories that seem to belong to him.

“…And Steve thought it was a good idea to—“

“Who’s Steve?”

Her eyes focus on him.  Bucky imagines they glow in red flames.

“Steve is…  He’s part of our family.  He’s a good friend.”

Bucky wonders what this Steve would be like.

  

“There was a man.  He had wings.  He was flying.  He had guns.”

“That would be Sam.”

“There was another…  Flying man.  His face was metal and he was red and gold.”

“That is Tony.”

Bucky takes another bite of food.  He chews slowly.

“There’s a woman with red hair.  Is that you?”

“There’s another.  She is Natasha.”

“Yes.  She shocked me with electricity once.”

Wanda is not aware of this memory so she chooses to not respond.

“There’s a man in blue.  Red and white.  He calls me Bucky.  His eyes are the clearest blue and I trust him.”

Bucky gets no answer from Wanda.

  

Bucky screams before he opens his eyes.  The room is flooded with light from the hallway.  Wanda is at the door, her grip on the door handle tight.  Bucky makes himself stop screaming.  His hand reaches around his torso.  He screams again.

“My arm…  I fell off a train…  And…  I died…  I was dying…  Why didn’t I die?”

Wanda sits next to him on the bed.  She sings to him in a language he doesn’t know he knew, her palm and fingers beating over his heart in rhythm.  Bucky’s eyes close, listening to the somber melody, lyrics about a soldier marching off to war, leaving his sweetheart behind, under a grove of sycamore trees.

“He was there…  The man…  Reaching out to me…”

Wanda’s hand misses a beat.  She doesn’t stop singing though, as he drifts back into sleep.

 

T’Challa is a nice man.  He talks to him and asks about his opinions on world issues and such.  Bucky spends a lot of time reading about what’s going on.  He doesn’t know why it jolts his heart when he sees an article of Tony Stark.  It’s one of those things no one can answer for him.  He thinks he must have a lot of secrets.  At the library, T’Challa finds him and asks if he can join him on the large reading table.  T’Challa is welcome and they work silently.

“James.  We have something you may like.”

“Yes?”

“A new arm.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say.  He smiles brightly.

 

The last thing he hears is to count to a hundred.  Bucky starts and he can feel his tongue slowing by seventeen.  And…

‘There’s someone I love…’

‘Yeah, who’s that?’

‘It’s you, Buck.’

‘I love you, too, Steve.’

Lines of freight cars in a train, not sure why he’s on the train, but he’s bound in chains and there’s a man with a rifle watching him from the other end.

‘Winter soldier.’

‘Where’s Steve?’

‘Who’s Steve?’

‘Steve will come for me.’

Can’t go to sleep.  Watching the fair-haired form sleeping under the crook of his arm.  His heart breaking at the sight.  Each bump in his chest shouting, mine, mine, mine.

Day breaks.

It’s time to go.

He’s been happy with Steve for nine years.

It’s always time to go.

He’s leaving to fight a war.

He would rather stay right here.

But he’s gotta go fight in a war…

‘I love you, Steve…’

  

He wakes up again to a strange world.  The auburn-haired woman is there.

“James?”

“Who is James?”

The woman covers her mouth, eyes filling up with tears.

“I’m Bucky.”  He smiles a bit.  He thinks, inappropriate time to make a joke.  “You’re Wanda.  Where is Steve?”

 

 

The Falcon Mix for Your In-Flight Entertainment – Track 193  
‘Ten Million Years’ – Black Lab  
“It’s seems a simple thing, when I’m by myself, I never feel this way, with no one else, I have nightmares, I have dreams of you gone, there is something in you I want…  I know I love you more than I should… I would stay beside you here, ten million years…”

  

  

The VA is glad to have him back in counseling and Sam falls back into his old routine. 

He runs in the morning around the memorial park.  He doesn’t keep his left open for a certain someone to pass him ten times on his five-mile jog.  Mama has breakfast and fresh squeezed orange juice ready for him when he gets back.  Honey drenched pancakes and hash browns help him gain the weight back.  He works at the VA, mostly paper pushing from nine to five, and group sessions to mediate for two afternoons each week.  He doesn’t expect a certain Super Soldier to show up at the sessions, shy, standing by the door.  Dinner time are usually filled with old friends from the VA and some high-school pals who are still in the area.  They are all too happy to listen to the adventures he’s had with the Avengers, especially curious about Captain America.  Sam doesn’t feel like talking about any of those things.  He pretends to be interested in his friends’ kids and their kindergarten shenanigans.

It’s autumn and winter and spring and summer.

It’s one year since he’s come back and he’s no longer an Avenger.

He’s sweated more than usual, jogging an extra mile to burn off the extra energy he’s been carrying lately.  He goes home and Mama greets him with scrambled eggs and waffles.  Sam is not ashamed to be living with Mama.  He suspects it’s because it feels like there’s something missing inside of him, out of his life, and he wants to fill it with something.  Besides, Mama is only too happy to have him home, still overcompensating by feeding him five times a day. 

At the VA, Sam has a private consulting session for a soldier who’s recently come home after a medical discharge.  Half his left hand is missing and his body is burnt and badly scarred.  Sam spends the entire morning to try to get him the best help he can.  He’s a few minutes late to the group session.

“Sorry I’m late, folks.  I’m Sam.  I am the mediator for this afternoon.”  Sam introduces the session and those who want to talk share their experiences and problems.  Sam still avoids looking at the open doors, because he doesn’t have stupid expectations.

Today though…  There’s a shadow.

The session ends and Sam does all the proper shaking of hands, giving out his card and some website information, brochures and making two appointments for the next day.  And he looks up to the entrance.

“Barnes?  Wanda!”

 

 

Wanda stirs in packet after packet of brown sugar into her regular tea.  She doesn’t look like she’s going to drink it.  Her nails are painted black and chipped at the corners because she bites them and then pretends that she doesn’t by hiding her hands under her arms or legs.  Sam suspects Wanda’s hiding her hands habit isn’t only because she bites her nails; she truly doesn’t like her powers, doesn’t understand them and she wishes for different outcomes.  Sam has not met her late twin brother, but she talks about him often.

Pietro drowns a whole lemon in his tea.  Pietro likes that video game, too, Sam.  Pietro shreds the entire cheese chunk and leaves none for me.  It feels like he’s just in the other room but my heart tells me different.

“What?  Steve puts in more sugar in his tea.”  Wanda comments, sips the sugar tea.

Sam can’t help but make a face.

“Steve’s a Super Soldier whose body metabolizes sugar ten times faster and his teeth don’t rot out.”

Even his enamel replaces itself.  Damn that serum.

Wanda looks at Barnes.

“What?  I never liked sugar in my tea or coffee.”

And he flashes her a big smile with all of his perfect teeth.  Sam sighs into his cup.  He works very hard to keep his insurance that includes dental for his pearly white.  Damn these Super Soldiers.

“It is…  What is the word called Sam?  I never got to have sugar when I was a child.”

“It’s called, the reason you don’t have cavities.”

Their sandwiches arrive on oblong plates with crispy fries piled to the side and a small plastic container of cole slaw.  Sam scoops up a forkful of cole slaw, appreciating the deliciousness with almost inappropriate sounds.  Wanda and Barnes do the same and their faces are comical.

“You never tasted cole slaw before?”

“It’s…  Strange.”  Barnes frowns.

“Natasha doesn’t like it.  Tony wasn’t allowed to order.”

“Is it…  A European thing?”  Sam takes another delightful mouthful and hums.

“Perhaps.”

Barnes raises both hands.  “I’m just a hundred years old, that’s all.”

They laugh.  It’s good to see Barnes making jokes like that.  Sam thoroughly enjoys their lunch.  Wanda tells him about the year spent in Wakanda.  Barnes shows him the new arm, only up to the wrist but Sam can appreciate good craft.  Good machinery.  A damn functional metal arm that is attached to the guy.  The first one was amazing but this one is even better.

“It’s powered by Stark’s Arc Reactor.”

Sam almost chokes on his cole slaw.

“Tony?”

“Yes.  T’Challa contacted him when all the other ‘batteries’ for the arm turned out to be highly radioactive, and ran out of options.  The arm before was powered by some leftover energy cells Hydra created from the Tesseract but T’Challa’s scientists didn’t have those.  Stark sent over an Arc Reactor cell made to fit the specifications for this arm a few weeks later.”

Sam is surprised by Barnes’s use of air quotes more than what Tony’s done.

“You know…  Tony, he…”

“Have you seen him recently?”  Wanda asks.

“I spoke to Rhodey last week.  Tony, no.”

“He wouldn’t answer my call.  I tried to get in contact with Vision, too.”

“Rhodey said they’re in the Avengers Tower.  Although, it’s called Stark Tower again.  They closed the Compounds.”

“He doesn’t want to be an Avengers anymore?”  Wanda’s eyes glow red for a second.

“No.  That’s not it.  He doesn’t…  Want an Avengers at all if we’re going to…  Fight among ourselves.  He doesn’t want to do it without…  Steve.”  Sam feels deflated.  “Tony was…  Not Tony.”

Barnes is staring out the frosted glass window at nothing.  Or maybe that Super Soldier eyesight can see through things they’re not supposed to.  Like they have X-Ray vision.  Like how that Vision can go through walls and all sorts of things that Sam had considered ‘magical’ until fairly recently.  Until he’s met Steve.  Goddamn that Super Soldier.  (Sorry, Mama, I wasn’t taking the Lord’s name in vain, it’s just frustrating sometimes.  Sometimes?  It’s just frustrating, Mama.)

Wanda slides over a folded paper.  It’s colorful.  It’s a brochure.  Sam unfolds it to look at some cropped photos of impressive paintings.  It’s in a fancy gallery in Chelsea, New York City, and boasts of its artist’s new paintings and quotes from what Sam is pretty sure are famous art magazines and critics.  There is no name on the brochure and the painter is called ‘The Artist’.  Sam wonders if it’s like the Prince thing or if it’s a hipster thing.  He’s concerned that he should know what this is all about, considering these two have been in Wakanda for the past year and Sam is all about the internet and whatever the ‘kids’ are talking about.  But he doesn’t understand.  He looks to Wanda for answers.

“It came in the mail.  Bucky thinks those are done by Steve.”

Sam’s eyebrows hike up.  Sam knows Steve can draw and he can paint.  There had been a paragraph about that in their high school American History text book, with a picture of a poster Steve had painted back in the day before he was big and impregnable.  Everyone knows Steve can art.  But Barnes can tell that these are Steve’s work just by looking at them?  Sam looks over them again for some clues or a hidden message that says, ‘It’s me, Steve Grant Super Soldier Captain America Rogers, Tada, fooled y’all’.

“So, um, I’m going to guess that…  We’re going to look for him?”

“Yes.”

“And…  Nat sent you this?”

Barnes turns to him.  Sam knows that same look from Steve.

“Stark sent it.”

  

  

Natasha doesn’t have a voicemail.  Natasha does not answer text messages.  Natasha’s emails get bounced back and Sam has had it.  Natasha is the best spy for this job but she’s not available.  Sam considers Clint for a few minutes but decides to not.  Because Clint has a private Instagram account which Sam has been deigned to follow and he’s just posted a series of photos of his family at Disney World.  Damn.  Sam also wants to visit that Star Wars Adventure resort.

Sam had talked Wanda into calling the gallery, pretending to be a wealthy East European who was interested in meeting ‘The Artist’ to commission a work, but they said they cannot give out that information.  Barnes had snatched the phone and started yelling in German then Russian to no avail.  (Good job scaring people, Barnes.)

Sam had taken initiative for Recon and walked into the gallery, studied each painting very hard.  The one clue he got was ‘European’ and that ‘The Artist’ will be in another gallery show in Madrid two months later.

It’s enough time for Sam to put in for an extended leave of absence at the VA and explaining to Mama about going back up to New York.  (Yes, Mama, I will bring Steve over for dinner when I find him.)  Barnes and Wanda stay in a two-bedroom month-to-month-rental apartment.  Sam doesn’t ask about the source of their money and they don’t tell him.

When Sam is ready, they book tickets for Madrid and order a Lyft to the airport.  Sam is a little worried, even though they tell him everything will be fine.  Sam goes to retrieve their boarding passes and hands the man behind the counter their information and his passport.  Barnes and Wanda are dead and/or a fugitive and they aren’t supposed to have passports but _voila_ , they have passports.  Each declare that they are Wakandan citizens and have all the appropriate stamps in them.  The man looks them up and down but doesn’t say anything, other than pointing them towards separate lines.  Barnes and Wanda look smug as they line up at a different line for the TSA.

“I can sort of fly but not over the ocean, Sam.”

“I may be a Super Soldier but I can’t jump over the ocean, Sam.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Cheeky Super People.

 

 

The Falcon loves the free maneuvering flight with the powered suit.  The Falcon hates commercial airlines and he somehow always gets stuck sitting next to the biggest guy on the entire plane.  And being of slightly larger than average, he and big guy have to fight for the elbow rest. 

“Barnes, knock it off.”

Today’s biggest airplane guy is the Winter Soldier.

Okay, so, maybe, Sam just feels like whoever inconsiderate sitting next to him on a plane is the biggest guy.

Sam knocks off Barnes’s arm.

He smirks haughtily.

As does Barnes.

“I know sixty ways of killing a man without a single weapon.”

“You don’t scare me, man.”

Sam mocks Barnes’s crossed arms over his pecs that may or may not rival Steve’s in a tight tee shirt, by doing the same, puffing his chest out just a little more.

“Have you ever seen me handle a knife?  With my right hand.  This new hand though is so much better.”

“Do you know how to fly?  I can _fly_ , man.”

Barnes glares at him.

Sam glares right back.

“I’ve lived a hundred years.  I think I’ll live a hundred more.”

“It’s good to be mortal.  YOLO, man.  YOLO.”

“Boys!”  Wanda cuts their banter as the plane starts to lurch for takeoff.  “Do I have to listen to this for the next nine hours?”

Sam turns his glare on Wanda.  Barnes does as well.

“Why do you get the window seat by default Wanda?”

“Yeah.  And you’re tiny.”

The Scarlet Witch sandwiches her head between her hands and shakes it vigorously.

  

  

They get separate rooms because Sam has reasons.  Barnes is all too glad and slams his door as Sam passes by.  Wanda tells him good night in a tired voice and goes into her room.  In his tiny hotel room in Madrid, Sam sits down solemnly on the edge of his double sized bed for a few minutes.  He has to do his breathing exercises.  He has to take a moment to go through his steps.

He checks each surface and corner, behind the ugly landscape painting on the wall and checks the wires.  He checks the windows and the locks on the door, the hinges and then scrapes the carpets for anything suspicious.  He checks and double-checks.  The bathroom is a tricky thing because he can’t remove the mirror without breaking it.  But this is possibly the cheapest hotel in Madrid (Barnes found it) and the mirror is a small thing hanging askew on the wall from a rusted screw.  When he’s almost satisfied, he checks the surroundings outside the windows.  He used to have a really neat Stark tech to do all of this for him in a few minutes.  And he used to sleep well after lengthy travel.

He tries the breathing exercise again.

It’s been years and he still has anxiety after traveling on a commercial plane with civilians.

Sam jumps at the knocking on his door.  He leaves the chain lock and opens the door slightly.

“Hey.  Use this.  My room, Wanda’s and the corridor’s clear.  I’m gonna check the rest of the hotel, the perimeter and the five-block radius.”

Barnes fits a device through the small space of the door.  That better be what Sam thinks it is. 

“Shower and sleep.  We can regroup at 0800.”

Barnes also hands him a pistol and extra ammo.  Sam knows it is loaded and checks the safety.  He’s not even going to question where Barnes got a gun.

“Don’t you sleep man?”

“Not with you crawling around and making so much damned noise.  I, too, have super hearing.”

Barnes stalks off.

  

  

At 0800 they get breakfast.  Sam is in love with the city, already so alive with music and color and delicious scents in the air.  They pick a restaurant that is not very crowded and get a table that has a good view of the exit and kitchen.  Barnes orders for them in perfect Spanish that startles the waitress, who’d been practicing broken English on them since walking in.  The eggs and potatoes dish is excellent, with bits of bacon in them.  Sam falls in love with a pork dish.  He finds out after the empty plates are taken away that they are pan-seared pig ears, but he shrugs.  Food is food and Sam’s had worse during his tours.  The coffee is where it’s at though.  Sam thinks he may never drink American coffee again after his time in Europe.

“Steve wanted to come to Spain.  He was in love with El Greco for a while when we were in school.  He wouldn’t shut up about him.  We went to the Met every time we had some money.  He would stand in front of that landscape for hours.”

Barnes’ story sounds like a grampa story to Sam.  He’s waiting for Barnes to start another with, ‘When I was your age…’

Barnes doesn’t continue though.  He rests his chin on his metal hand, staring at nothing, with a smile on his face.  So, Sam doesn’t ask what is going on in his head.  He asks for a refill and chats with Wanda about what they’ll do for the rest of the day.

  

After a few days in Madrid, going from galleries to museums and finding nothing, they end up packing their things into a rental car with Barnes in the driver’s seat and an open atlas on Sam’s lap.  Barnes doesn’t like technology, apparently, and threatens to crush Sam’s phone if he even thinks about turning on his GPS app.

“Can we have some music though?”

The car can connect to his phone by Bluetooth and they don’t have to try to fill the silence in the car with awkward conversations.  Barnes doesn’t answer.  Sam connects.  He lets the app play some soothing instrumental jazz selections because Barnes doesn’t need to be agitated any further.

The sun sets beautifully over the open fields and hills of the Spanish country side.  Wanda sleeps in the back seat.  Sam drifts in and out.

“We should find a motel.”

Barnes slows down to a stop, off of the empty road when it’s completely dark.

“That’s what smartphones are for, my man.”

“I think…”  But Barnes doesn’t say what’s on his mind.  His right-hand grips the steering wheel tight.

“What’s up?”

Sam uses his best therapist voice he uses for Vets with severe PTSD.  Calming, non-threatening, non-judgmental.

“Me and Steve…  We wanted…  After the war, we wanted to go home.  We figured we could buy a car, drive all over the country, see things, meet people.  Steve traveled for the USO tours but he never really got to see anything, he said.  So, I told him, after the war, we’ll go see everything.”

At that moment, Sam hears it.  Barnes and Steve…  They both are so alike.  And so…  Exhausted.  Maybe that’s what Steve wanted.  A vacation.  To…  Go home?

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.”  Barnes’ voice cracks.

“Maybe.”

“I would do it again.”

“I thought everything was cured?”

“No.. No.  It’s all gone.  All of it.  I meant…  I would close Steve out of my life again.  I think Steve knows that…  That’s why he left.”

“Hey, man…”  But Sam doesn’t know.  So instead he says, “We’ll find him.”

Barnes nods.  His hands rest over the steering wheel at ten and two.

“We better find him.  That asshole stole my iPod.”

Barnes looks at him.  His eyes flash even in the darkness.  Some sort of enhancement?  Sam wonders.

“What the hell is an iPod?”

  

  

They stop in a small village just as the sun is rising.  Sam can’t stay awake anymore but Barnes is alert.  He asks an old man about lodging and they manage to find the only motel in town.  There’s only one room (with two beds) for them but Sam doesn’t even care.  Wanda wakes long enough to walk on her own, taking the bed farthest from the door.  Sam sits on the other.

“Sleep.  I’ll take watch.”

“Seriously man?”

“Seriously.”

“Or you could take a hot shower and join me in bed.”  Sam jokes.  Partly to hide the nervousness boiling up inside him, in this strange room.  He wants to check the walls and the perimeter.  Sam laughs out loud to cover up the acid rising from his stomach.

Barnes chuckles.  Sam likes that about this version of Barnes, who gets the jokes and laughs with him.

Barnes then says, “I’m flattered, Sam, but I’m afraid I am betrothed.”

Barnes laughs at Sam’s face.  Barnes fishes out some tech that scans the room and surroundings.  Barnes pulls the armchair and dresser over the door with his left hand, securing the only entrance and obstructing the only exit.  But this small village probably isn’t a threat at all.  Barnes seems satisfied.  He heads toward the bathroom with a clean change of clothes in his hands.  Before he closes the bathroom door though, Sam comes back to himself.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘betrothed’?”

 

 

The Falcon Workout Mix – Track 067  
‘Nothing Compares 2 You’ – Prince  
“It’s been seven hours and fifteen days since you took your love away… Nothing compares to you…”

 

The world is grey without Bucky.  Without a thing to do.  Without the Avengers.

Steve fills the canvas with colors, the colors in his head.  He doesn’t care if it’s the right color to represent the forest or the waters or the sky.  It feels right and that’s all he wants.

Because the world is still grey.

‘If I don’t make it, Stevie…’

‘You’ll fight it if you love me and you’ll make it.’

‘Yeah, Stevie.  That’s what I would do…’

He’d sold the bike for a hefty sum in Cairo.  He’d stopped everywhere he could, to sketch, to take in the scene of the empty countryside or the bristling villages, or the grasslands and its animals.  He’d slept on an empty stretch of beaches after staring out into the clear ocean for hours.  When he’d woken, he’d sketched it out with swipes of pastels.  He’d tried to count the hours and days and nights but he’d lost himself.  He’d crossed to Greece on a ship, visiting old ruins among tourists, sitting on hard rocks to draw.  It is what he’d always wanted to do, travel, leisure, and sketch.

It just feels so empty without the finite ending moment to this journey.

He has no home to go to.  He has no real destination.  He has no mission.  He is walking on this earth without a single destiny.  He drifts.

‘You’re my home.’

‘You won’t be here though…  Will you, Buck?’

‘I’ll be here.  Always.’

He is shadow.  He shouldn’t exist.  He should be with Bucky, frozen.  But he’d promised…

He travels to Istanbul.  He’s always loved history and he takes everything in with glee.  He travels lightly, eating when he gets hungry, sleeping where it’s dry, managing day to day.  He swims in oceans and lakes and rivers or streams when he feels like he needs to.  He lets his beard and hair grow out.  No one recognizes him.  He catches on a small television in a deli, about some fight that breaks out in New York and London.  He clenches his fist but he’s a nobody now.  He’d done that when he tossed his Shield down.  To carry Bucky.

Steve checks into a run-down motel in Kolasin to get away from a terrible rainstorm.  He enjoys the warm shower and ends up shaving and shearing off the annoying long hair.  He’d missed sleeping on a real bed.  He is jolted awake by knocks on his door.  He doesn’t have a single weapon on him.  But if an enemy wants to attack, they’d have kicked the flimsy door down.  So he opens the door.

“Hello, Steve.”

“Nat?!”

“You’re a hard man to find when you try, Steve.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I must be getting rusty, then.”

Natasha holds up a paper cup.  It is coffee.  Steve wants to hug her and run away from her at the same time.

“I like these.”

Natasha flips through the pages of his drawings he’d spread out on the furniture in an attempt to salvage them after the rain.

“Thanks.”

“I know an art dealer if you ever want to…  Do this for a living.”

Steve bites down on his lip.

“What happened in New York and London?  Is Tony…?”

“We’re not involved.  The police and military handled everything.  It’s good, Steve.  You don’t have to be Captain America anymore.”

That makes his chest tight.  Natasha’s hard gaze sends shivers through his body.  She writes something on the corner of one of the pages.

“I’ve got to go.  Head for Madrid?  I can meet you there in…  Three months.”

“Sure.”

Nat had written the name and phone number for the art dealer.  Steve gets his things together and leaves the quiet motel.  He contemplates and finds a payphone.  He dials the number and makes an appointment to meet in Madrid, in three months.  He has more to travel, more to see, more to draw.  Now he has somewhere to go to.  A purpose.  Like…  Steve Rogers.  And…  He writes down the things he wants to tell Bucky when he wakes up.

Because they have time.  Whenever that may be, if it’s a hundred, thousand hours, years later, they have time.

  

  

The Falcon Mix for Your In-Flight Entertainment – Track 158  
‘3005’ – Childish Gambino  
“And if I lose my mental, just hold my hand, even if you don’t understand…  No matter what you say or what you do, when I’m alone I’d rather be with you…  I’ll be right by your side, ‘till 3005…”

  

  

Sam wakes up after five solid hours of sleep, just as Wanda walks in with bags of stuff in her arms.  The dresser and armchair Barnes had moved so easily the night before with his metal arm are still in place.  And Sam had tried to move them, halfheartedly, but were hard to budge over the thick carpet.

“How did you get out?”

“I can move things with my mind, remember?”

“Oh yeah.”

Barnes is conked out on the bed Wanda’s slept on.  Fully dressed, with his boots on.  Possibly armed.  Probably.  Most likely.  Yes.  Sam sees a knife tucked into the inside of his left boot.  Sam’s just glad to see that Barnes sleeps.  That he’s human.

“I brought food.”

“I need to shower first.”

After taking care of business in the bathroom, Sam enters back into the room.  Barnes is awake, chewing on bread as he studies the atlas.  Wanda points to landmarks on the map.  Barnes nods and listens but mostly says no.  Sam helps himself to some food and coffee, still hot in a large thermos. 

“We’re going to head up to Toulouse.  There’s a gallery there that is planning to show some of The Artist’s work in the future.  New paintings.”  Wanda supplies, handing him a loaf of bread and a block of cheese.  “Got an update from Vision about it.”

“Telepathic communication?”

“Cellular phone text messaging.”

“Vis uses cellphones now?”

“Yes.”

“Gimme his number.”

Wanda glares at him.

“Just want to say hey.”

“No.”

Sam wonders why the Winter Soldier and Scarlet Witch are so hostile towards him as he chews on food.  It must be because he’s got killer thighs and he can fly, for real.  Probably over the ocean, if he wants to.

  

  

The drive through the countryside and crossing the border into France is uneventful.  Barnes talks about the war and points to the city markers.  He and Steve and the Howling Commandos.

“…caught a rabbit and that was an exciting night, lemme tell you.  We’d been rationing out our food for a week.  The reconnaissance team we were supposed to meet were ambushed so we couldn’t resupply.  We were running out of everything.  No ammo.  No food.  And Steve…  You know how much Steve’s gotta eat.  It was worse back then because we didn’t really know how much his body needed to sustain that new bulk.”

Sam hums because yeah, he knows how much that man can eat and because he’s only half listening to Barnes’ grampa story.  Sam has personal experience with drawing the short straw on meeting up with World War II veterans.  Their stories are all similar.  No rations.  No ammo.  Goddamned Nazis.

The twist to Barnes’ stories are that he sounds like he’s just gotten back from the war and he fought with Captain America.

Wanda is reading a book in the backseat.

“No one believed me when I told them what a tiny thing Steve used to be.  Everyone just thought he was came out the womb like that.  Big and… hot.”

“Humm?”

“Hot.  His body temperature is higher than normal.”

“Oh.  Yeah.”

“The serum they put in me took care of that.  A little.”

“So, you got all the good stuff.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”  Barnes’ voice tapers off and doesn’t explain more.

“Steve’s serum amplified the good in him, right?  And you said that the Red Skull…  His outer appearance changed and all that.”

“Yeah…”

“Even those other Winter Soldier guys.  They probably got later versions of the serum that didn’t change what they looked like but still amplified what was inside.  Bad became worse, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“But you were…  Tortured throughout the years.  So that they could control you.  Don’t you think that maybe there was good in you, and they saw that, too, that you would be just as successful as Steve?”

Barnes doesn’t answer.

“You’re just as good as Steve.  If not better.”

Barnes huffs out.

“I’m serious man.  You don’t go around taking other people’s stuff without asking, eating their food off their plates without asking, don’t make a mess and lose their stuff all the time.”

Barnes laughs.

“Yeah.  Family meeting about Steve eating all of our foods.”

Wanda supplies from the back.

“Yeah.  Family meeting.”

Barnes smiles at the words.

  

 

It takes two days and one night of shared motel room to get to Toulouse.  Wanda navigates them to a restaurant she says she must to go to.  Sam finds he had liked the spicy Spanish foods compared to the French, seemingly bland at first bite.  It’s a different palate.  Barnes tells him to explore the textures of the foods and the subtle tastes that go with the small glass of red wine, like some kind of Bourdain type of food expert.  If Sam has to be honest, he prefers American cheeseburgers and greasy fries any day but he keeps that information to himself.

They walk to the gallery that holds a few of The Artist’s paintings until the planned opening.  The sun is high and temperature rising around them.  Sam is lightly sweating by the time they spot the sign of the street they’re supposed to be on.  Barnes pulls out a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his face and neck.  Sam is appalled and jealous at the same time.

“Yeah.  Grampa.  I know.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Uh huh.  Loud and clear.”

“What is on the corner?”  Wanda pulls at the corner of Barnes’ handkerchief.  “J.B.R.?”

Barnes smirks at her.  He doesn’t answer.  Wanda nods and smiles to herself.

“What does that mean?”

Sam demands.

“C’mon.  We’re here.”

They enter the gallery.  Cool air swirl around their bodies and Sam feels better already.

“Finally.  Did you have a nice road trip?”

The familiar voice startles all of them.  The unmistakable silhouette in snug jeans and a leather jacket is looking at the large painting hanging on the farthest wall.  Wanda hurries up to her and the women hug and shriek in excitement.  Natasha looks the same, red hair long and falling in waves over her shoulders.  The green in her eyes twinkle as she saunters up to them, giving Sam a big hug and a nod towards Barnes. 

“I got intel.  Let’s go where we can talk.”

They leave the lovely cool gallery into the afternoon heat.  Natasha leads with way, arm linked with Wanda as they chat.  They end up in a café with outdoor seating.  Barnes orders for them in flawless French.  After the coffees and cakes on little plates arrive, they settle down, Wanda filling in Natasha on their trip so far.  Barnes is the one who asks.

“It’s Steve, right?”

Nat does that smile-not-smile thing.

“Maybe it is.”

“Where is he?”

“Why did it take so long for you to start looking for him?”

The Winter Soldier and Black Widow stare each other down.  Sam asks Wanda with his eyebrows, What’s going on?  Wanda shrugs and adds more sugar to her cup.  After silent sips and irritating minutes of lasers shooting out of unblinking eyes, Barnes shakes his head and relents.

“There were some…  Problems.”

Sam is interested now.  He’d wanted to ask but could not bring himself to do so.  He’d just assumed Barnes was frozen for the better part of the year.  Wanda interjects.

“Bucky didn’t remember Steve.”

Nat’s eyes soften visibly.

“The scientists were successful in deprogramming Bucky.  All the trigger words that were used in Berlin and more.  They didn’t know that those words were all somehow associated with Steve, with Brooklyn, with…  Home.”

Nat’s small hand covers Barnes.

“I remembered eventually.  I just…  I remembered Steve one day and I broke down hard.”

Barnes looks down at the metal arm and hand under Nat’s.

“I think he’s in Italy.  Riviera.”

“Thank you, Natalia.”

  

  

Because Nat is Nat, she takes the driver’s seat and Wanda on her side.  They chat and pick out songs.  Sam sits with Barnes in the crowded backseat, their arms crossed over the chests and legs spread as widely as they could.  Nat had scoffed at them, shaking her head.  _Men_ , she had said, Wanda agreeing in the comfortable passenger seat.

After two hours of listening to the women talk about the best hair and skin products to prepare for any kind of mission-slash-battle, Sam sighs loudly and let his arms fall.  He tries to engage Barnes into another grampa story but he doesn’t talk much.

Sam supposes it’s because they’ve just crossed into Italy where Barnes had been captured with his men and tortured for the first time by Hydra.  Sam knows the story well.  Steve, drunk on Asgardian mead for thirty long minutes had detailed out what had happened in Azzano to Sam, Clint and a very interested Thor.  ‘I thought I lost him forever, laying on that table with his eyes closed,’ Steve had sobbed.  ‘I need to find him, Sam, you’ve got to help.  Help me find my Bucky.’

It’s an epic lost and found story.  Steve misplaces things.  He had misplaced his tactical boots one time and had delayed the mission by ten minutes.  Sam had suggested Steve’s running shoes, and Captain America stood there among his scattered belongings contemplating on the idea.  The boots turned up eventually (in Tony’s lab without any explanation) and being late had actually helped their mission.  But this here.  Steve had left him behind.  His family.  And his precious Bucky he’d drunkenly sobbed over. 

Barnes fidgets in his seat.  The backseat is really too small for two large men and a metal arm.

“We’ll find him.”

Sam says, reaching over to squeeze Barnes’ shoulder.

“Hmm?  Oh, yeah.  I’m sure we will.”

Sam is confused.

“Romanova.”

Barnes calls to grab the attention of the women.

“Yeah?”

“What is the product that keeps your hair tangle-free and shiny in a fire-fight called again and where can I get some?”

  

  

The Falcon Mix for Your In-Flight Entertainment – Track 023  
‘Late Night in Kauai’ – Childish Gambino  
“I guess this ending's the best for me, But I can't leave you behind, You know that I never wanted to see what's on your mind.”

  

  

Apparently, Natasha speaks Italian as she asks around to locate a certain villa.  They have the windows rolled down, letting the cool Mediterranean Sea breeze circulate around the car.  Sam had conked out during the middle of the deep discussion on ceramic versus ion hair dryers.  He’d woken up to beautiful scenery and the scents of salt in the air.  They drive past a boisterous market and men hovering over some game under an awning with bottled beers and tossed coins.  Nat stops the car when the streets get too narrow.  They walk the rest of the way up.  Nat stops in front of a rusty iron gate.

“This is it.”

They are let in by a small old woman who nods at Nat after she talks to her.

“Third floor.”

Nat explains.  The building is old but well-kept.  The first floor is open on the other side to the scenery below the cliff and across the small inlet of water.  It smells like flowers and herbs.  The narrow staircase spirals up.  On the third floor, Nat stops in front of a door that possibly contains their missing person.

Barnes knocks.

There is no answer.

He tries the door.  It turns and opens.

Sam watches Barnes take a deep breath and shove the door open wider.

Sam will describe what happens in the next few minutes, later to everyone else as sweet.  But seeing it happen at the time had shocked the air out of his lungs.

He should have figured it out, he will think when he goes over all the things that have happened.  But at the time, he’d just let his jaws drop.

First, they see the room filled with Steve’s things strewn all over.  Messy bed.  Stuff everywhere.  Next, there is the smell of oil paint and the open windows that reveal the beautiful landscape they’d witnessed on their way up.  Steve is standing in front of a canvas, brush in hand.  He has earbuds in.  He has Sam’s iPod, the asshole.  Steve turns, eyes going wide and mouth dropping to speak.  It all plays in slow motion. 

“Bucky?”

“Hi Stevie.”

“Hi…”

Next is Barnes sauntering over, taking a deep breath as he halts in front of Steve.

And Barnes pulls Steve down by the nape and smashes their mouths together.  Steve pulls and pushes, kissing Barnes enthusiastically.  They end up smacking against the end of the bed, step on Steve’s mess, and against the small space of wall near the open window before they pull apart for air.

“Bucky…”

“Hey punk.”

“Jerk.”

“I’m here.”

“Yeah…”

“Yes.”

Then they kiss again.

Sam is pulled away by Nat and Wanda closes the door.  Sam is too stunned as they find their way back down the winding staircase.  They end up sitting on the open terrace on the first floor.  Sam shouts.

“How?!  Why?!  When?!  What?!!”

Nat and Wanda smile at each other.

“They’ve always been together, because they love each other, I think since the thirties when it was illegal but now…  I think they’re ready to be together.”

Sam is trying to wrap his head around this.

“Is Steve Barnes’ ‘betrothed’?”

Wanda shrugs her answer.

“Does everyone know?”

“I’m just surprised that you’re this dense.”

Sam is hurt by Nat’s words.

Sam has so many questions.  He wants so many answers.  He wants a strong one.  He wants to get on a plane, back home, to a nice cheeseburger and greasy fries.

Nat hides a scoff behind her hand and at Sam’s questioning look, turns her face up to the open window of Steve’s room.

Sam is just so glad that he, The Falcon, does not have super hearing.

 

.end.

  

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> 2017 Cap RBB was so fun! :D
> 
> other musics on the Falcon lists include a lot of 80s pop. >;)
> 
> *Because it happened while writing this fic, 'Nothing Compares 2 U' is one of my most fav. song, the Sinead O'Connor version and the Prince original version... But there is a Chris Cornell acoustic version on YouTube that is so so lovely and Chris Cornell was a huge big influence of me so... Please give it a listen.
> 
> Thank you!!!!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In T'Challa's Library](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087535) by [mific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific)




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